Big Time Dodgeball
by Jamocha101
Summary: Some mistakes just have to be learned the hard way.  Never play Dodgeball the day before a photoshoot.


**Before I say anything, this was inspired by another story on here, called, um…I forget what it's called, but it's about this rivalry Carlos has with this one girl named Christina something, and they get into a Dodgeball War, and…yeah. It's not really the same as this story, but the Dodgeball scene is similar. And I suggest you figure out what the story is and read it. Because it's awesome. And is you know what story I'm talking about, can you please tell me, so I can acknowledge the author **_**properly? **_**KTHASNKS. 8D **

**ANYWAY, I know it's been a while since I posted something, but I've been working on some other stuff, and I'm starting to become obsessed with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, again, so…yeah. Writing is the schizz. Just saying. **

**Disclaimer: ~Is owning nothing~**

**ONWARD**

It always feels nice to have some time away from work, to have some quality time with some friends, and get away from it all…It's especially nice when the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and everyone you know is available to hang out. Today was one of those perfect days, and a day off, wasn't too much to ask, right?

Wrong.

Le dias was perfect, as previously described, and such an opportunity to enjoy life was passed, yet again for Big Time Rush, when Gustavo forced them to stay in the studio and work.

Yes, all of them loved to perform, and record, and singing was fun, but yet, it was still _work_, and that was the only notion to entertain, on such a day that was passing them by. However, Gustavo's forceful demand for them to record and sound awesome at the same time, as a band should, was all in vain, because instead of sounding enthusiastic and content in their performance, as usual, each one of them, even Carlos who didn't seem to have the word "sad" in his vocabulary, were slouched over as they sung into the microphone, and to make it worse, their voices were as low and flat as a tired mule.

Gustavo only tolerated the poor display of his moping employees for a second, before he pulled the plug on the music, and ripped the head set from his ears. _"Ah!" _he, fairly randomly, vociferated, giving the four boys a start. He would have continued to scream, in all his temper, if were not for Kelly, who, observing the suddenly tensed vibe, calmed him down, much to Big Time Rush's relief. "Boys…" he said, his voice forcefully disguised as relaxed, "Griffin wants me to give him a _happy_ song. Not some mopey excuse for a good recording!"

"But Gustavo…" Carlos timidly began to protest. "It's an awesome day, and you got us cooped up in here, working…"

"Yeah," James agreed. "And the sun is good for tanning this—" he paused to arrogantly use his 'fire' gesture, "—gorgeous face."

Gustavo face remained in its perpetually unconvinced glare, nearly causing the boys to relinquish their argument.

With a sigh, Kendall continued from his friends' remark. "Gustavo, if you let us have this _one_ day off, we swear we'll be right back in this recording studio bright and early tomorrow morning."

Gustavo still appeared weary of the proposition, until Kelly, in all her inward righteousness, came to their defense. "Gustavo, I think you should let them have their fun. They've all worked so hard. And how can you turn down those faces?"

Gustavo corresponded by looking back in the studio, only to witness Kendall, Logan, James, and Carlos wearing the possibly most innocent puppy-dog faces one could manage. But, it was Gustavo, and big, shiny eyes were not going to make him crack.

Not the big…shiny…eyes…

"Oh, alright!"

The four friends rejoiced with high-fives and cheers of appreciation before they charged joyfully out of the sound studio. Gustavo received a happy beam from Kelly, but was not further moved by any of their grateful gestures. Being so, he did not forget, right as the boys were about to leave, so add—

"Oh, and dogs!"

They paused, bumping into each other sequentially, before turning their inattentive interest towards their manager.

"Don't forget about tomorrow's photo shoot. It's for supporting the charity towards the children's hospitals, and it's very _important!"_

He couldn't have emphasized that last word more.

"Okay, Gustavo!"

And the four left, bounding down the hallway, and out the building as though they giant rock was hurtling towards them, like in the Indiana Jones movies.

Kelly granted Gustavo another one of her grateful grins. "I think you made them happy."

* * *

It was hardly minutes when the guys returned to the Palmwoods, and greeted warmly by Jo and Camille.

"Hey, guys, we were just about to go to the beach for some Dodgeball. Do you want to come?" Camille invited, gesturing to the sack of rubber balls that were draped over Jo's shoulder. "It'll be fun."

Not a word had to be shared, before Big Time Rush mutually agreed, and followed the band of Dodgeball participants to the coastline, beaming in conceited anticipation as they went. It was a short walk, when the gang joined abundantly on the seething sand, preparing ambitiously for their potentially furious game. There was a numerous amount of Palmwoods boarders there, and an equally large amount of deadly rubber balls that were conspicuously waiting to be hurtled at players. Once the field was set, and the members were placed, Jo stepped into center, and verbally gathered her peers' attention. "Okay, people!" she began, "It's boys against girls. There are seventeen boys, and nineteen girls, so—"

"No fair! We're outnumbered!"

"Shut up, James. As I was saying, there are seventeen boys, and nineteen girls, so one girl, can go on the boys' team. Volunteers?"

It was barely unexpected, that not one female of the tribe raised their hand, or took a step forward.

"Then I guess it's me," Jo exhaled. "Rules—you hit, you're out, you catch the ball, the thrower is out, if you get hit in the face, it doesn't count, and you get a penalty throw. Any questions? Okay, good. "

Just as said, Jo retired from her position, and a manually placed line in the sand separated either of the sexes, every one of them crouched, and few members holding balls, or prepared with balls at their sides. Camille drew one ball behind her shoulder, and squinted viscously at the opposing team. "Ready…" everyone drew back their ammo; "aim…" everyone's sight was vigorously narrowed…

"_Fire!"_

One could swear that some kind of evil force broke down from Hell, but everywhere, rubber balls flew, and hit players painfully to mark them disqualified, and there was not a moment's perchance of time when there was not at least three balls hurtling in the air, across the line, and into somebody else. Every person seemed to have their own diverse way of dodging—ducking, leaping, catching, diving, shoving someone else in front of you…

Granted all the furious tension between the opponents, it was only a few moments, where only two opposing competitors were left standing—

Carlos Garcia and Camille Sanders.

"Don't cry when I strike you out, Camille."

The conceited remark drew and contracted plenty of friction, which was only accentuated by the over-dramatic "Ohh's…" from the standing-by crowd.

"Just shut up, and fight, Garcia. What are you afraid of?"

Carlos hurtled a ball that narrowly missed her leg, and Camille kindly returned the deed, her ball just hardly escaping Carlos's arm. This is when it got juicy. Because there was only one ball left in the field.

And Camille had it.

Even Carlos couldn't help but panting slightly in anxiety, for if he lost his battle, his reputation would be forever squandered. At least to him, anyway.

"Say goodbye, Carlos…"

And it seemed that everything ran in slow-motion at Camille's menacing words, because when she hurtled the ball forcefully from her grip, it didn't land where she wanted it to. It _did _hit Carlos…

Right in the face.

"_Ow!" _

It was actually pretty worrisome, because the ball was thrown with such force, it actually knocked Carlos off his feet, and flat on his back, he didn't get up, again.

"Dude! Are you okay?"

Every boy had charged over to Carlos's side, and circled him, looking down at his curled up position, his nose and mouth clasped in his cupped hands. Meanwhile, Camille only stood in oblivious awe, unsure of how to respond to her mistaken-ful aim, and just a few cautious moments passed before every girl ran to his side, as well.

"Man, are you okay?" Logan asked, helping Carlos, whose half-covered face was still tightened in pain, sit up properly.

"Aw, man…" was his only response, his words timid and muffled from underneath his hands.

"Here, let me see…" Logan urged, only made frustrated at Carlos's immediate hesitation. "Carlos, some one, let me see!"

With an exasperated sigh, Carlos drew his red-stained palms away from his nose that was now leaking fluently in blood. Logan sucked in through his teeth, as he drew Carlos's chin upward to examine it. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes!"

Logan stiffened at his own stupid question, but continued to look at his friend's injury carefully. "I hate to tell you this, man…" he said. "But I think it might actually be broken…"

"Somebody go get a tissue!" James suddenly demanded, and Tyler quickly obeyed, heading for the conveniently place portable potties.

"Oh, come on!" Camille suddenly ejaculated, pushing her way through the audience. "How can it really be _that_ serious?"

"You threw it, kind of _hard_!" Carlos defensively retorted, using his own hand to create a barrier for the ever-flowing blood, shortly before Tyler reappeared with a wad of toilet paper.

Camille only sighed and rolled her eyes, weary of her bad aim. "It was just a rubber ball!"

"It's _my_ fault that the 'rubber ball' totally knocked the blood-glands in my nose?"

"Okay, that's enough! Come on, let's drive to the Hospital," Logan insisted. "And see if Carlos's nose his broken."

* * *

The next morning, the boys did as promised and arrived at the studio early to perform their regular working schedule, and though they sang to their hearts' content, Gustavo looked genuinely displeased, distracted, and confused. Being so, he once again, interrupted the recording.

"Dogs!"

"Yeah, Gustavo?"

"I don't have much of a problem…" Gustavo responded calmly, in spite of his more furious nature. "But can one of you please explain to me why _Carlos has a bag over his head?"_

The band flinched. Aw shoot. He noticed. Nothing gets by this guy.

"Well, Gustavo…" Kendall said in an elegantly polite matter. "There always comes a time in life when you just have to—"

"Take it off!"

"But, Gustavo—"

"_Now!"_

Carlos sighed in defeat, and looked at Gustavo through the eye-holes in the bag like a suffering martyr. Despite his willfulness, Carlos hesitantly obeyed, and every so slowly, removed the bag from his head.

"What the?"

It was only awkward for a moment, when Gustavo had a befuddled expression on his face, from the white slip that was on Carlos's nose, and the blue ring around his eye.

"Carlos, what happened?" Kelly asked, a legitimately concerned voice arose from her throat, and her eyes were furrowed in curiously at the white cast that lay across the Latino's nose.

"Um, we were playing Dodgeball yesterday, and…"

"I knew it!" Gustavo suddenly interrupted. "I knew I shouldn't have let the dogs have a day off! Now look what happened!"

"Gustavo, it's not _that_ serious," Kendall protested, defending his friend, who seemed to have a very nervous complexion on his face.

"Did you _forget _about the photoshoot?"

It was never so stressful to be reminded of something so stupid. If they had paid more attention, they might have known.

"I _did_ forget about that," James confessed.

"Me too…" Logan added. "But, can't we just wait a week for Carlos to get the bandage removed?"

"Griffin wants the photos _this evening, _and we can't have it taken, with that _thing_ on Carlos's nose!"

Carlos cringed, of only for a second, before he suddenly achieved a new expression on his face, which could not possibly appear more content. "Wait!" he said, "that gives me an idea!"

* * *

"_Say cheese!"_

The photo has been taken. And to be frank, the editing that was done to it, could not have made it look better; there were the three boys, standing in front of the white backdrop, and they weren't dressed in their regular attire, oh no, but rather wrapped in bandages, and leaning on crutches, which gave no attention in particular to Carlos's blackened eye or broken nose.

Yes, the plan was for the guys to dress up as though they were all severely injured, but the photo _was_ for a hospital, right? The only further obstacle was to absorb Griffin's feedback, and if he didn't like it, there was no turning back, now.

"Gustavo…" he said, evaluating the pictures carefully, and the slowness of his remark caused all the listeners—Kelly, Gustavo, and Big Time Rush, to lean forward dramatically, readying themselves for whatever it was Griffin was about to say.

"I like it. It's diverse, yet boy-bandish. Great job."

Another joyace fest occurred between the four friends, as they see; it was just another problem they got out of with struggles, a bit of clever thinking, some luck, and each other.

Hoo-rah.

**Uh. Yeah. I had no idea of how to end this, which is why it sounds all corny and weird. Sorry. But I was bored, and needed something to do. So here I am. Happy you. Oh my gosh that rhymes. O_O My next story will be up, soon. Please review, flames are frowned-upon. I love you all! …Unless you ask me about the disclaimer…Bia! P.S., NO ONE KNOWS WHAT CAMILLE'S LAST NAME IS…Which is why I just used Sanders, 'cause that's her last name in real life, and it would have sounded weird if I JUST used her first name in that situation. So…yeah. That's that. Don't speak of it. ;-)**

**Oh, and by the way, paper cannot beat rock. It's impossible. Don't deny it. Garsh.**


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